


Better Off Dead

by Minxie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: KINK: captured!Harry, KINK: double penetration, KINK: mindfuckery, M/M, REPOST (2006)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 09:17:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/637368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minxie/pseuds/Minxie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Voldemort won the final battle. Harry believes he would have been better off dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Off Dead

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: Jadzia7667  
> First time I ventured into unhappy endings. Heh.

Harry Potter moaned as he swam to consciousness. Muscles he didn’t even know existed were aching. Terribly. And by the Gods, they had to find a real bed to sleep in. The nights on dirt floors were beginning to play havoc with his supposedly young back. And the nightmares were getting worse. All of the Horcruxes were finally destroyed yet despite the supposed weakened state of Voldemort Harry had dreamt of the final battle just last night. Nothing out of the ordinary there, the impending final battle was a recurring nightmare.

Except for the fact that this time he’d lost.

Rolling over, he attempted to stand but was jerked back to the ground by an invisible force. Harry felt around for his glasses, encountering cold stone floors and rough, damp walls. Definitely **not** the safe house they’d used last. Overtaken by a burst of panic, Harry scooted as far as his invisible leash would let him, hands slowly covering the floor in a frantic search for his wand, his glasses, his… anything.

“You are searching in vain,” an easily recognizable voice drawled, confirming Harry’s fear: last night had been no nightmare. It had been for real. “They were destroyed over two days ago. Your wand, however useless, is no more than five paces to your left.”

“Malfoy,” Harry hissed, pain and fear ratcheting his panic even higher. He groped for a plan. Obviously something had been done to his wand making him ineffective magically; Lucius Malfoy would not have given him its location otherwise. Physically he was useless without his glasses. That left only one option: stall the inevitable. Going for his typical brazen behavior, Harry snapped, “Where the hell am I?”

Lucius Malfoy laughed, a deep foreboding sound. “You are in no position to question anything, Potter.”

“Now, now Lucius,” the Dark Lord interrupted, “There is no reason to not answer his questions.”

Harry fell back, clutching his forehead as the sharp pain grew worse. “Voldemort,” he ground out through clenched teeth.

“How dare you,” Voldemort hissed, “you insolent whelp. Use of my name is a privilege, one you are guaranteed to _never_ earn.”

A fuzzy red light sped towards Harry, enveloping his body in pain. He heard the screams, knew deep down they were his, and wondered for a brief second when he would die, when he would be released from this existence. Just as abruptly, the overt pain ceased, leaving him panting, sweating and aching from head to toe. “Why?”

“Why are you still allowed to live? Why were you just cursed? Why were you born to a fate that you had no chance of surviving?” Lucius’ voice echoed the smirk pulling at his lips. 

“Yeah,” Harry rasped, just barely catching his breath, “those.”

Lucius’ chuckle, full of dark implications, blended easily with the macabre wheeze the Dark Lord issued. “You are alive, Potter, simply because my Lord wishes it and for however long he wishes it.” Nudging Harry with the toe of his spit-polished shoe, Lucius said, “You earned your curse with your disrespectful mouth. I suggest you learn to control it before the Dark Lord grants me the pleasure of controlling it myself.” Malfoy smiled maliciously.

Harry shuddered at the thought. He was sure no one in his present company would be kind in their instruction. “To conclude the answers to your pathetic questions,” Lucius continued, “You may thank that fool Dumbledore and his treacherous spy for the direction your life has taken.” A snort from Voldemort had Lucius correcting his words. “Actually, you’ll have to wait to thank them properly. They have preceded you into the fires of hell.”

Dead. The Headmaster and Snape, from what he could gather, were dead. “Who else?”

“Who else of your acquaintance has left this plane of existence?” Harry nodded shortly, wincing from the pain bursting behind his eyes with each movement. “The Mudblood and the Weasley brats, along with many of your precious Order have also found their just reward.”

Voldemort and the elder Malfoy watched Harry visibly deflate at the news. “I’m fucked,” Harry murmured to himself, all of his hope for a rescue disappearing as the meaning of Malfoy’s words sunk in.

“Obviously, my Lord,” Lucius drawled, “he does know what is due him. Perhaps he is more intelligent than the traitor ever gave him credit for.”

**~**

They left him alone after that. To _think_ about his options, they said. “What options?” Harry asked the empty room. “They won’t kill me. They won’t let me go. There are no options beyond that.”

“In that, Potter,” Malfoy’s voice echoed from the doorway, “you are incorrect. Your choices are thus: bow down and accept your fate or fight it with all the defiance you possess. The only difference, of course, will be how much pain you endure. The final outcome will be the same no matter your decision.”

“Then there is still no choice.” Harry glared weakly, “I’ll never bow down for your Master.”

Lucius snorted softly, a smirk firmly in place. “If nothing else, boy, you are predictable.”

Lucius flicked his wrist, swishing his wand in a complicated pattern. Harry curled in on himself as a pale yellow light shot from the wand. The magic washed over him in the form of soft material lengths twisting around his body, tying him in an intricate pattern of knots and silk. Another flip and murmur, a vibrant blue spell, and Harry was floating behind the pale man as he made his out of the room and down the empty hall.

“What are you playing at, Malfoy?” Harry struggled fruitlessly in the magical confines. 

“Playing?” Lucius asked, his voice ringing with amusement. “I assure you that no one here is playing at anything. My Lord wishes to see you and see you he shall.”

For every step Lucius made, Harry grumbled. “My Lord… bow down… are these people all insane.” Lucius was beginning to see just why the Dark Lord had spared the boy’s life. He would be ever so fun to break into pieces.

“You were not gagged, Potter, on direct orders. I will give you but one warning. Learn to control that tongue in the next thirty seconds or have it controlled for you.” Harry’s jaw snapped shut with an audible click. Both wizards wondered just how long it would last; one praying for the strength to keep it closed, the other hoping the entertainment would begin all the sooner.

Much too soon for Harry’s comfort they turned out of the hall and into a side room. Harry blinked owlishly, taking in his fuzzy surroundings. “This is a bedroom!” he shouted, eyes focused on the over large four-poster nestled in a corner.

“Indeed,” Lucius replied, depositing the floating wizard in an ungraceful heap on the floor. Lucius moved to a side door, knocked once and returned to the center of the room. 

Harry’s head exploded with pain as the door creaked open behind him. “Ahhhh,” he moaned, attempting, despite the bindings, to cradle the pulsing scar. “Go away or kill me.”

“I think not,” Voldemort said, “At least not just yet.”

“Come on,” Harry snapped, “I doubt the curse would backfire on you twice.”

A string of words were hissed in Parseltongue, too low for Harry to hear, and then his body was trapped against the stone wall, hands and feet manacled in place, jagged rock digging into his back. “Stupid, stupid boy,” the Dark Lord ground out, stepping closer and closer to Harry.

The pain grew more intense as the space between them diminished. “Tell me,” Voldemort asked lazily, “If being this close hurts you so much, how are you going to feel when I fuck you?” Voldemort held one long white finger out, tracing along the dirty shirt and denims, banishing them away to leave Harry shivering in the nude.

Harry bit his lip to stop his whimper from bubbling out; he refused to give the snake bastard the pleasure of hearing him cry. In a moment of madness, Harry opened his mouth and spat. Saliva and snot combined in a glob, landing wetly to the right of Voldemort’s slitted nose.

“Fool!” Voldemort roared, holding out his hand, calling a flash of braided black to him. The crack of the leather filled Harry’s ears just as the tip of the whip sliced down onto his skin, raising an angry red welt across his nipple. His mouth opened, a scream of pure hatred and loathing, fueled by pain, ripping its way out of his throat as another and yet another kiss from the whip landed, the last finally drawing blood as his skin split open.

The lashes continued, crossing his chest, dipping precarious close to his groin, until Harry slumped in the cuffs. “Submit,” Voldemort demanded. “Submit to me, Harry Potter, savior of the Light.”

“Never,” he whispered, his voice raspy and spent from his screams. His body screamed as the salt from his sweat, his tears mingled with blood leaking down his frame but still he said, “I’ll never bow to you.”

The manacles released, Harry crumpling to the floor before he felt the tingle of magic lifting him, dropping him unceremoniously onto the bed. “Take him, Lucius. Break him open for me.”

Harry tried to call his body to working order, tried to scramble away from what was coming. Lucius grabbed Harry’s ankle, easily stopping the weak attempts at escape. The blond, Harry realized, was just as naked as he was. “No, please, no,” he begged, “Not this. You don’t have to do this. Please, Sir, please.”

Lucius flipped Harry onto his back, forcing his legs to bend and pressed Harry’s knees into his chest. “My Lord,” Lucius asked his master, “a bit of lubrication, if you please.”

The Dark Lord waved his wand, coating Lucius’ prick in a light sheen of oil. “Just to ease your way, Lucius.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” Lucius replied, lining the tip of his erection against Harry’s tightly clenched hole.

Over Harry’s chanted “No, no, no” Lucius forced his way through the tight muscle, tearing the delicate anal tissue, and seated himself balls deep in the body beneath him. Pulling back, pitching forward to thrust again, Lucius purred, “Scream for my Master, boy.”

And scream Harry did.

Every withdrawal, followed by a fast, all consuming reentry, was met with Harry’s shouts, his voice finally fading completely, his mouth still opening with the terror of the moment. “Now, Lucius.”

Lucius rolled, staying lodged in Harry’s body, until the boy was sitting above him, riding him in a most intimate way. The move, obviously planned in advance, left Harry’s exposed back and arse vulnerable to the Dark Lord; a realization that dawned on the young man as Lucius pulled him down harshly, holding Harry flush against his chest.

Cool spidery fingers spread Harry’s arse wider. The pain in his scar crashed through him, adding to the misery, as Voldemort explored his bleeding entrance, stretched taut around Lucius’ cock. “Very good, Lucius,” Voldemort said as one his fingers slid into Harry’s pucker, caressing both the tight channel and the pale member it sheathed. “He still has room, Lucius. I believe we should correct that.”

“As you wish, my Lord,” Lucius responded, sliding out of Harry until just the head of his cock remained in the abused flesh. 

Voldemort pressed the head of his prick, the same sickly white as the rest of his body, into Harry’s passage. The boy tightened around him, the pain of the Dark Lord’s touch warring with the torture of having his body opened around two dicks. His vision grayed, his body trying to shut down only to be kept awake, alive in his personal hell, by Voldemort’s continued “Ennervate!”

Through the haze, Harry felt his arse filled, the warm moisture of their spunk a blessing to his torn insides. Both men pulled out, leaving Harry in the center of the bed. As he left, Voldemort hissed a private message to Harry, “ _Bow down to me, boy, or expect worse next time._ ”

Bleeding, crying, and exhausted, Harry curled into himself as the door clicked shut behind. Eventually Voldemort would kill him.

He just didn’t know if he could last until eventually.

 

_…end_


End file.
